


Chlorine

by Lorakeet



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cohabitation, Ectosiblings, M/M, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Slight Anxiety, bbs being cute, beta kids - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 17:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2630615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorakeet/pseuds/Lorakeet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The four kids are still recovering from the game, and need a break. Jade suggests the pool, Dave's objection is ignored, and off they go for a day of 'fun in the sun', or something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chlorine

**Author's Note:**

> just fyi i wrote everybody closer to my headcanon than to actual canon so theyre all technically pretty ooc

It’s hot out, humid as fuck too, which is so completely _normal_ for Houston that it nearly makes you sick. This world was decimated, yet there are still kids running around, soaked to the bone in their stupid neon swimwear, moms reading Fifty Shades of Gray ( _in broad daylight_ ), dads with ridiculous amounts of chest hair, and obnoxious teenage girls attempting to tan and shit. You can’t believe Jade suggested this, and that Rose and John just fucking _agreed._

John is smiling, talking animatedly with Jade near the edge of the pool, when the wind picks up. It almost seems to focus on him, blowing his dark hair around, and making his default bedhead about twice as bad as it normally is. He stops and closes his eyes, just breathing in his aspect.

“He looks happy like that, doesn't he.” Rose is spread out on the lounge chair next to yours, head turned slightly towards you.

You snort. “None of us are happy, Lalonde.”

“Is," she corrects distantly, "None of us is happy."

You flick your wrist sharply, dismissing the correction. She knows what you mean.

Rose rolls her eyes, and continues. "That may be, but John is closest to it.”

You half-shrug. Your gaze goes to John and Jade again as their conversation is cut off by the sharp, rapid ringing of what sounds like a school bell. The rest period’s over, and Jade grins, first at her brother, then at you and Rose. “Swim time!”

She grabs John’s shoulder and bodily shoves him into the pool. John’s reaction doesn't disappoint either. He ends up flailing comically until he splashes into the bright blue (his eyes are still deeper, you somehow notice). You hear a chuckle from your sister and a full-blown cackle from Jade. John resurfaces, spluttering. You smirk along with them. He actually looks pretty…funny, all waterlogged and disgruntled like that (definitely not cute, what).

“Ugh, Jade!” He shouts, “I still had my glasses on!”

He passes them up to her (“That was terrible for my Prankster’s Gambit too, ugh…”), and Jade hands them to Rose, who puts them with his stuff.

Then Jade turns to you, eyes flashing. “Your turn, Dave!”

Your smirk snaps away. “Hell no, I ain't getting in there.”

“Nice try, Mister Coolkid. Everyone gets wet when they come to the pool! It’s pretty much a law or something!”

“I would have to agree, ‘Mister Coolkid’. Seeing as we had to drive a full forty minutes to get here, this will be your last chance for a while. You should take it.” Lalonde is a fucking traitor. She’s also standing up and grabbing your arm and _oh fuck no._

John’s laughing over your pleas for mercy as both girls start hauling you toward the gently rippling abyss of chlorine and death.

Your aspect seems to slow when you hit the surface and your shades are spent spinning away. Your heart rate jumps; this is the _last_ place you want normal people to see your eyes. You know it’s just a thing with the pigment, but you've been called a demon before, and that is _not_ what you need today.

Your scrabbling feet finally plant on the concrete bottom of the pool, and you push your head above the water line. You are squeezing your eyes shut like opening them will make you blinder than Terezi (yay for photosensitivity, but that's obviously not entirely the problem).

You try to stay calm, but fail miserably. Your shoulders are tensed, pulled practically to your neck, and your arm, flailing slightly, whacks against a warm, solid mass that you hope is John, and not just some kid in your way.

“Dave?” Yep, definitely him. You wrap your trembling fingers around what you’re nearly sure is his bicep, right near the elbow. “Are you—oh, your shades! Hold on.” He’s fumbling, and thank god he’s reading you properly.

You nod nervously, eyes still shut tight. You are icy-hot all over and probably look like a total dumbass, but the anxiety is just debilitating enough to keep you from caring.

Two more slight splashes disturb the surface, and Rose and Jade are there. You think you hear Rose murmuring your name—she _knows_ how you are about your shades—and Jade’s slightly-calloused palms are flattened on the tensed muscles of your shoulders. You thank them silently, but can’t relax.

“Here, Dave,” John says, and you feel him push your shades up onto the bridge of your nose.

The collective sigh the four of you breathe pulls a little of the tension from your shoulders, and you drop your hand from John’s arm, muttering a gruff, “Thanks,” then speaking up a bit. “but geez, guys, I know I’m super awesome and stuff, but getting all up in my biz doesn't make you any cooler.”

John is the first to shake off the awkwardness. “What _ever_ , Dave! It’s not like any of us could match your level of stupid-disguised-as-cool anyway.”

“Aw, fuck off, Egbert.”

After that, Jade calls for a round of Marco Polo or some shit (at the expense of an Attack of Titan joke), and your mini-freakout is more or less forgotten for the time being. Rose will want to pick your brain about it during your next therapy thing with her, and Jade will probably be extra nice to you for a few days, then go back to being her usual carbonated self.

You wonder what John will do. His reactions vary a little more than the others’ do, but you aren't really worried. If he’s going to say something, he will.

 

—

 

He does say something on the way back to the house the four of you now live in (being apart hurt more than the daily reminders of all you’d done and gained and lived through and lost).

The steering wheel is smooth and warm under your palms. The sun set half an hour ago, and the breeze whipping through the open windows buffets the shades you have perched on top of your head, and contentment softens the would-be frown creasing your brow.

John’s tone is quiet, just for you and him and no one else (Rose and Jade are sleeping anyway, but the sentiment remains). “Are you okay?”

You sigh quietly after a moment. “Sure.”

“Dave…” He knows you well enough to know when you aren't exactly telling the truth. 

“I am.” He also knows when you are trying to pull the truth too thin, to make it cover things you both know it doesn't.

The incredulousness in his gaze makes you fess up, even though you had planned to do anything but that.

“Fine, I will be, alright? Geez, you’d think you were my mother or something. Mother Hen Egderp, that'd be quite the sight to see, Mama Bird John feeding Baby Bird Dave his daily dose of freshly-digested fish guts. Aww, so cute and breathtaking. I'd probably still be amazingly cool with my shades, and you'd have a ruffly pink apron or some shit, I dunno."

You expect him to cut you off, half-giggle, or sigh exasperatedly at your (admittedly shaky) metaphors, but he doesn’t. The air currents seem to intensify for just a moment, blustery and cool after the day in the sun, then John murmurs, barely more than a whisper, “...Come up to my room after we get back, okay?”

You glance away from the road, and he’s frowning, but it’s not negative in any way. It’s like he’s thinking a single thought, but the thought itself makes less sense than he’d like, but enough that he’s not really confused. There’s a word for it, you know there is, but it’s totally escaping you at the moment (non-lyrical words are more Rose’s domain) and you’re too tired to care all that much.

“…Okay.” You don’t really want to say no, so you don’t.

You park the car in the garage a few minutes after that, and avoid John’s gaze by leaning back and gently shaking the girls into relative states of wakefulness. “Hey sleepyheads, we’re back. Get yourselves inside and go to bed, okay?”

Jade mumbles something that is muffled by Roses shoulder.

“Didn’t catch that.”

Rose, who is marginally more awake than she was a minute ago, pets Jade’s hair, and murmurs, “She thanked you for driving back even though she said that she would.”

“Nah, it’s cool. She needed the sleep after a day like that.”

Rose undoes the seat belts and helps Jade out of the car. She turns to look back at you, and her expression is measuredly neutral. “Tomorrow or Monday?”

She’s talking about your session-y thing. “…Monday.”

She nods and wishes you and John goodnight, then helps (read: half-carries) Jade inside.

John hasn’t moved since you woke up Jade and Rose. You look at him, eyes still bare. “What, Egbert?”

He shakes his head a little. “Nothing. Just…meet me upstairs, okay?”

“If you want.” You (try to) say nonchalantly as you start to pull your shades down off the top of your head, but John’s hand flashes out and stops on your fingers.

“Just…leave them off, okay? Please?”

You blink, then nod minutely, swallowing. You trust him more than anyone, you realize. You always thought that was the case, but now you’re absolutely certain.

John's hand lingers on yours for just another second, then he unbuckles his seat belt and gets out of the car, opening the door into the house when he gets there, damp towel slung over his shoulder. He glances back at you for just a moment, and you get out of the car as well, following him in and closing the door behind you.

You brush your teeth after your quick shower, and change from your swim trunks into a clean pair of boxers and white v-neck undershirt. The carpet is soft beneath your feet as you walk across the hall to John’s room.

When you knock, he tells you to come in, and he’s pulling on his shirt when you do. You get a glimpse of his stomach, the slight definition there something that he never lost, even after the game.

You sigh. “What did you want with me?”

John doesn’t say anything, but instead climbs into bed, and holds back the comforter for you, watching you carefully.

You don’t move because, uh, what?

“C’mon, Dave,” he says quietly, and your mind is still static-y with confusion. “You aren’t gonna sleep standing up, are you?”

Closing the door, you shake your head slowly and move the shades from the top of your head to his nightstand, next to his glasses, then slip in beside him under the covers. You have no idea where this is coming from, but frankly, you’d rather not look a gift horse in the ass or whatever. Plus you’re, y’know, tired as fuck, so.

“Dave,” you hear him say a while later when you are on the edge of sleep, “This helps, right?” He sounds like he looked in the car earlier, with the single-minded non-confusion, except with more drowsiness.

“Yeah. This helps.” Your voice is rough, and strangely resonant with his.

Contemplative, you think. That’s the word.

You feel his back settle against yours, and your mind slips away faster than it ever has, even before the game. You don’t dream, and it’s the best night’s sleep you've had in a while.

 

—

 

Nine hours later, you wake up with your bodies sprawled across each other. John’s face is pressed up against your neck, his aspect puffing out gently against your collarbone. The door is slightly open, which is new, and you smell real food downstairs, which is predictable, considering yesterday.

He yawns, and you start disentangling limbs, trying to remember whose what goes where, and get up to put on some sweatpants. John grunts something into the warm spot you probably left, to which you reply, “English please.”

“Stay.”

You stop rummaging through his drawers for comfy pants and think for a moment: food and your sister versus warmth and platonic (???) brocuddles with John.

“Alright,” ’cuz damn if there was any contest to begin with. Food is good, but Rose can get grumpy this early, and John trumps everything, kind of no matter what.

You are lucky though, because he snuggles right back up to you the second you are back in your warm spot. You drop a tentative kiss to the top of his head, and when you feel him smile against your collarbone, you know you made the right decision.

 

—


End file.
